Chương 10: The Holy Shop

LANCE's considerations bore fruit and he narrowed his options down to a small handful. Any of the options would have transformed his fighting style, but he, for the time being, only wanted to pick one. His first consideration was [Radiance Overshine]. It cost [10 Boon Points] and allowed him to store holy energy — energy he received from praying and from upholding the public good — as a weaponizable force he could unleash against his enemies. A bit like a pseudo-magic.

The next consideration was [Metamorphic Armament]. It cost a whopping [25 Boon Points] and allowed his weapon, at the cost of an insignificant amount of mana, to change shape into whatever form he willed. The third and final consideration was [Armored Fists]. It cost [15 Boon Points] and transformed his fists, when he willed them to, into heavy hitting weapons, like knuckle-dusters. He saw the value in each of the upgrades.

Not the least of which because each upgrade, had he been a normal Paladin, would've demanded YEARS of pious labor from him before he could afford any. Each of the purchases would shift his fighting style into an unrecognizable shape. Did he want all of them? Sure, but since he was pretty sure he could only pick one upgrade for the time being, he had to select carefully. The Radiance Overshine was neat. He would get a lot of use out of that... but not right now.

Right now, bandits assailed from every side of the island. He didn't have time for the constant prayer the Overshine demanded. And Armored fists. Well, tempting though it was to use his fists like a bad-ass monk, and as much as he wanted to, he also didn't want to get that close to the enemy, not yet. And besides, he had his sword to dispatch enemies. Having his fists as a backup weapon was an idea, but not an idea he could get traction out of at the moment. Which left him with Metamorphic Armament.

It might be costly, but his sword becoming more than a sword, it becoming an armory in and of itself? That was a trick few in this world could boast. He selected the armament and breathed in deep. [Thank You for your Purchase! -25 Boon Points Subtracted] [Holy Boon: Metamorphic Weapon Granted] [Unallocated Boon Points: 19] He opened his eyes and rose from being on his knees. He felt calmer, sort of like how he felt after meditating. A beach was nearby with white sand. It stretched for an impressive distance.

Throughout the sand were pieces of driftwood, some sizable. He decided to test his new Boon. He set up some pieces of junk on a few pieces of driftwood then stepped back. He took his sword in hand and focused a small amount of mana into the blade. To his surprise, to his excitement, the blade transformed into the image in his mind — a crossbow. A bolt was loaded already into his crossbow.

Lance took aim and fired; the bolt smashed into the watery log and shattered the seaweed wrapped lump of dirt he had assembled moments before. Seconds later, and much to his surprise, the bolt he had fired re-materialized back inside his crossbow. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Haha!" he yelped.

"A crossbow whose bolts return? An upgrade indeed!" Next, he tested out another metamorphic transformation, a lance, his namesake. As expected, the crossbow / sword, transformed into a lance. Its weight and dimensions were the same as the sword, and it pierced the dummy targets he set up with ease. Next, he tried a mace, a frail and chain, throwing stars, which he saw, much like the crossbow's bolts, returned to his hand after being thrown, and a number of other weapons.

Yea, the weapon performed as the boon promised. Heck, he even tested how the sword was as a set of knuckle-dusters. The answer, amazing; should he purchase that Armored Fists upgrade in the near future, the Metamorphic Weapon he just bought would make an incredible supplement. Lance smiled at his new tool. Already, his mind was awash in tactics; he could shoot at bandits from a distance, ambush and silently knock out patrol groups using knuckle-dusters, then finish up with his blade. And if he got surrounded?

He could use the frail on a chain to twirl the weapon around and create room. He was almost a one-man wrecking crew! [Search]: the results showed him meandering groups of enemies. The bandit peons were clearly hunting for him. Unfortunately for them, they had no clue where he was... pity. He could hunt the bandits if he desired. But why slaughter groups of thugs who were as lost of the victims who lives they took? He had another idea.

He remembered the many horror stories about Murder Island when he was an initiate in the academy. He knew the bandits had a harbor or two somewhere on the island which they used to launch attacks against fishing vessels. It was long overdue for those harbors to be burnt to the ground. Locating the harbor would not be hard. As soon as he found a suitable location to incant his spell, he would be in business.

That said, Murder Island's environs could be disorienting when they wanted to be; as he walked and tried to find a nice hill or an unusually tall tree, he could incant from, the miles passed without luck and he became dispirited. His Champion System, normally always functioning, was giving him conflicting information, which could only be from a strong negative energy source. Likely, that meant the bandit leader was up in a tizzy. Thanks, dad... His father. He couldn't but help think about his father as he searched.

His father was a great man. That much was certain. All the rest, though? What could he say about his father? They allowed him in on the secret to their fame and their power. That was neat. It was cool his dad was willing to let him fight the Horror with him — what a father-son bonding exercise, right? None of it made him happy. Warhol was a closed off man.

Had the Horror not appeared at the edge of 'local space,' as his father described the heavens, there was no way they would've shared their power with him, regardless of whether or not he had saved him from the Mind Slop parasite. Despite it all, his dad remained reluctant for him to tag along, despite his training and training-to-come. It was understandable, given the danger, but he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was an adult.

A young adult who still had much to learn of both him and the world, sure, but an adult all the same. He wanted to help, he wanted to repair his father's image after the incident. But his father was stuck inside of himself and wasn't willing to budge. Compared to the wonder of life, his father was but a pebble, one which somehow refused to move despite the hurricane which rushed against them. How would he, an even smaller pebble, convince them to move? Lance sighed.

Thinking of how he and his father were wasn't going to get him anywhere. Distractions like 'the past' were only going to get him killed when he should be killing bandits... offering salvation to bandits... whatever, same difference. Ahead of him, he spotted a hill. He sighed again: that would have to do.